Chapter One
Ok, please don't flame me. If you don't like it, by all means review, but no unconstructive criticism please. But please do review!!
Snape stalked down the corridor, his eyes gleaming. Students automatically pressed themselves to the walls, and then turned to watch him with puzzled expressions on their faces. The glint in his eyes almost looked like tears from the right angle. Snape, crying?
The Potions master saw the expressions on his students' faces. He blinked hard, trying to keep out the tears. As he turned the corner into his deserted classroom, he laughed hollowly. Severus Snape, the most unemotional man in the school, crying? An absurd thought.
A tear slid out of his eyes and ran down his cheek. He brushed it away absently with a thin, sallow hand, and shook his head slowly as he settled himself at his desk. More papers to mark. More three thousand word essays, set by him. All the same, word for word. All copied off Hermione Granger.
The lucky bitch. She had it all. Friends, brains, looks, love . . .
Snape's mouth twisted into a bitter glare. Yes, she had love. Ron Weasley. Probably the most annoying student in the year, always excepting Neville Longbottom. If Weasley could do it, why hadn't he?
Another tear fell onto Lavender Brown's essay. He could imagine her reaction when he gave her back the paper the next day: "Oooh, look! There's a wet blotch on my paper! I bet he's been crying, I bet he's been sobbing coz he's finally realised nobody likes him!"
A sob welled up in Snape's throat. He threw down his quill and buried his head in his hands. The torches grew dimmer, dimly casting a shadow of Snape's shaking shoulders onto the far wall.
Lily, Lily, Lily . . .
Why Potter? Why James fucking Potter?
Suddenly a distant memory flashed through his mind, a memory of times buried in sorrow:
"Why do you have to argue so much, Severus? He's never done anything to you!" She was standing over him in the corridor, late at night. He and James had had another brawl. James had stalked off, leaving Lily to take care of the battered and bruised Snape.
"Lily, with all due respect, you have no idea what's going on between me and James Potter!"
"But why do you hate each other? You're so alike-"
Snape lunged up at Lily. "Me, like that scumbag? Are you suggesting that I tend towards the same selfish, heart-breaking habits as he?"
Lily looked at him uncertainly. "What do you mean? Surely you don't- Oh god." The colour drained from her face. "You don't. Please tell me you don't."
He sighed, rolled over onto his stomach, covered his face with his hands. "You know I do, Lily. You've known for a long time."
That much was true. Lily lowered her head.
Snape nodded. "Since first year, Lily. I love you."
The Potions master shuddered, breaking the rhythm of his sobs. How could he have told Lily that? Why had he started along that dreadful path. He remembered the moment when the idea for that dreadful act had first popped into his head. A fleeting shadow of a thought.
But he could not think of it. Could not bring himself to admit to conscious thought what he had done. But Lily. . .
"Professor?"
Snape stiffened, shot up from his stool, sending it flying. Stormed over to the door, to seize. . .
Harry Potter.
The slight bespectacled seventeen-year-old took a step backwards. "Are you ok, sir?"
What glimmer of sympathy had prompted him to ask that?
"Do I look okay to you, Potter?" he snapped. A stupid question. The boy wasn't about to say 'no sir, you look terrible,' was he?
Potter shifted his gaze uneasily to the floor.
"Don't answer that," Snape hastily said.
"Kay."
"And don't use that annoying half-syllable in my presence!"
"Sorry, sir."
"What are you doing here, anyway?"
"I have detention . . ."
Dammit. How could he have forgotten? You stupid fool, he cursed himself. "Ah yes. Sit down." Potter obeyed, and Snape lowered himself back into his armchair. Snape caught sight of the tearstain on Miss Brown's essay, and hoped fervently that the boy wouldn't see it. Harry sat at attention, waiting to be given orders. My God, Snape thought. He really does hate me. Ironic. I loved his mother, and he hates me. God, I loved her . . . again he dissolved into thought.
"Err . . . sir? The detention?" Harry's voice jerked Snape back to reality. "Ah, yes . . ." Snape's voice trailed off as he tried to concentrate enough to think of a feasible detention. He straightened in his chair and shuffled his papers in a business-like way. Tell him, a voice in his head urged. Tell him what happened.
Snape's heart jumped at the thought of telling somebody those thoughts that had weighed so heavy upon him for so long. But Harry! Potter would never forgive. How could he tell Lily's son that he had-
As he struggled with his desperation to tell another living soul about his past, he noticed that Harry was looking at him very strangely. He knows there's something wrong with me, Snape thought. He knows I'm out of sorts.
To tell him or not to tell him? Harry sat cautiously gazing at him, hiding all his feelings about his dead mother, about Voldemort, even about Snape himself. Poor boy. The thought escaped him before he could automatically catch it and stop himself actually feeling sorry for someone. You stupid bastard, he told himself. Why are you denying yourself human emotions? Why do you sit in your office all day giving bad marks to good people? Why can't you just accept what happened in the past and stop living your life by it? Tell him!
The command of his mind was so loud Snape was sure Harry must have heard it. He made up his mind.
"Harry-" The boy stiffened at the sound of his first name. Snape almost gave up. Then he remembered the misery of the last twenty years. He could not pass up the chance to be released from all that. With a huge effort Snape continued.
"Harry, I'm not going to give you detention." Harry furrowed his brow in puzzlement. Snape knew exactly what he was thinking: Is Snape joking? What's wrong with him? Again the realisation of how much everyone hated him flooded over him, and tears welled up in his eyes.
"No, Harry, I'm not. I need to talk to you about the past. My past. About – about your mother."
"You knew my mother?"
Snape laughed bitterly. "Oh, yes, Harry. I knew her." He paused, trying to find a good place to begin.
"What about her, Professor?" Harry was leaning forward eagerly.
"Be patient, boy!" he snapped. "This isn't the easiest of things to tell someone, you of all people. Just be patient."
Harry nodded and settled back into his chair. And Snape began.
Ok, please don't flame me. If you don't like it, by all means review, but no unconstructive criticism please. But please do review!!
Snape stalked down the corridor, his eyes gleaming. Students automatically pressed themselves to the walls, and then turned to watch him with puzzled expressions on their faces. The glint in his eyes almost looked like tears from the right angle. Snape, crying?
The Potions master saw the expressions on his students' faces. He blinked hard, trying to keep out the tears. As he turned the corner into his deserted classroom, he laughed hollowly. Severus Snape, the most unemotional man in the school, crying? An absurd thought.
A tear slid out of his eyes and ran down his cheek. He brushed it away absently with a thin, sallow hand, and shook his head slowly as he settled himself at his desk. More papers to mark. More three thousand word essays, set by him. All the same, word for word. All copied off Hermione Granger.
The lucky bitch. She had it all. Friends, brains, looks, love . . .
Snape's mouth twisted into a bitter glare. Yes, she had love. Ron Weasley. Probably the most annoying student in the year, always excepting Neville Longbottom. If Weasley could do it, why hadn't he?
Another tear fell onto Lavender Brown's essay. He could imagine her reaction when he gave her back the paper the next day: "Oooh, look! There's a wet blotch on my paper! I bet he's been crying, I bet he's been sobbing coz he's finally realised nobody likes him!"
A sob welled up in Snape's throat. He threw down his quill and buried his head in his hands. The torches grew dimmer, dimly casting a shadow of Snape's shaking shoulders onto the far wall.
Lily, Lily, Lily . . .
Why Potter? Why James fucking Potter?
Suddenly a distant memory flashed through his mind, a memory of times buried in sorrow:
"Why do you have to argue so much, Severus? He's never done anything to you!" She was standing over him in the corridor, late at night. He and James had had another brawl. James had stalked off, leaving Lily to take care of the battered and bruised Snape.
"Lily, with all due respect, you have no idea what's going on between me and James Potter!"
"But why do you hate each other? You're so alike-"
Snape lunged up at Lily. "Me, like that scumbag? Are you suggesting that I tend towards the same selfish, heart-breaking habits as he?"
Lily looked at him uncertainly. "What do you mean? Surely you don't- Oh god." The colour drained from her face. "You don't. Please tell me you don't."
He sighed, rolled over onto his stomach, covered his face with his hands. "You know I do, Lily. You've known for a long time."
That much was true. Lily lowered her head.
Snape nodded. "Since first year, Lily. I love you."
The Potions master shuddered, breaking the rhythm of his sobs. How could he have told Lily that? Why had he started along that dreadful path. He remembered the moment when the idea for that dreadful act had first popped into his head. A fleeting shadow of a thought.
But he could not think of it. Could not bring himself to admit to conscious thought what he had done. But Lily. . .
"Professor?"
Snape stiffened, shot up from his stool, sending it flying. Stormed over to the door, to seize. . .
Harry Potter.
The slight bespectacled seventeen-year-old took a step backwards. "Are you ok, sir?"
What glimmer of sympathy had prompted him to ask that?
"Do I look okay to you, Potter?" he snapped. A stupid question. The boy wasn't about to say 'no sir, you look terrible,' was he?
Potter shifted his gaze uneasily to the floor.
"Don't answer that," Snape hastily said.
"Kay."
"And don't use that annoying half-syllable in my presence!"
"Sorry, sir."
"What are you doing here, anyway?"
"I have detention . . ."
Dammit. How could he have forgotten? You stupid fool, he cursed himself. "Ah yes. Sit down." Potter obeyed, and Snape lowered himself back into his armchair. Snape caught sight of the tearstain on Miss Brown's essay, and hoped fervently that the boy wouldn't see it. Harry sat at attention, waiting to be given orders. My God, Snape thought. He really does hate me. Ironic. I loved his mother, and he hates me. God, I loved her . . . again he dissolved into thought.
"Err . . . sir? The detention?" Harry's voice jerked Snape back to reality. "Ah, yes . . ." Snape's voice trailed off as he tried to concentrate enough to think of a feasible detention. He straightened in his chair and shuffled his papers in a business-like way. Tell him, a voice in his head urged. Tell him what happened.
Snape's heart jumped at the thought of telling somebody those thoughts that had weighed so heavy upon him for so long. But Harry! Potter would never forgive. How could he tell Lily's son that he had-
As he struggled with his desperation to tell another living soul about his past, he noticed that Harry was looking at him very strangely. He knows there's something wrong with me, Snape thought. He knows I'm out of sorts.
To tell him or not to tell him? Harry sat cautiously gazing at him, hiding all his feelings about his dead mother, about Voldemort, even about Snape himself. Poor boy. The thought escaped him before he could automatically catch it and stop himself actually feeling sorry for someone. You stupid bastard, he told himself. Why are you denying yourself human emotions? Why do you sit in your office all day giving bad marks to good people? Why can't you just accept what happened in the past and stop living your life by it? Tell him!
The command of his mind was so loud Snape was sure Harry must have heard it. He made up his mind.
"Harry-" The boy stiffened at the sound of his first name. Snape almost gave up. Then he remembered the misery of the last twenty years. He could not pass up the chance to be released from all that. With a huge effort Snape continued.
"Harry, I'm not going to give you detention." Harry furrowed his brow in puzzlement. Snape knew exactly what he was thinking: Is Snape joking? What's wrong with him? Again the realisation of how much everyone hated him flooded over him, and tears welled up in his eyes.
"No, Harry, I'm not. I need to talk to you about the past. My past. About – about your mother."
"You knew my mother?"
Snape laughed bitterly. "Oh, yes, Harry. I knew her." He paused, trying to find a good place to begin.
"What about her, Professor?" Harry was leaning forward eagerly.
"Be patient, boy!" he snapped. "This isn't the easiest of things to tell someone, you of all people. Just be patient."
Harry nodded and settled back into his chair. And Snape began.